


Facets

by kim_onka



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 'twas a challenge, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, the unlikely little family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim_onka/pseuds/kim_onka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and other little things dedicated to the unlikely little family of Maglor, Maedhros, Elros and Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facets

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a drabble-a-day challenge (okay, not strictly a drabble) last year but now I'm just putting up everything. Enjoy.

_1\. beginning_

.

To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well was their doom and evil they reaped from seeds they had deemed good, and amidst ruins they stood, forever dispossessed.

But this was not a thing well begun; in ruins it started and from evil deeds, and no new beginning was possible after that, not whilst the children Maglor would call his wards only saw his hands for the blood that stained them.

'Surely you cannot expect it to end well,' Maedhros said, and rightly.

What a twisted hope to hold, of doom reversed and evil bearing good fruits.

* * *

  _2\. accusation_

.

'Kinslayer.'

'Yes.'

'Murderer.'

'Certainly.'

'Traitor!'

'Perhaps.'

'Coward.'

'I am not the one to judge.'

'Morgoth's friend!'

'You know better.'

'Elf-killer.'

'That, yes.'

'Liar.'

'I never once lied to you.'

But it would be long before they believed that, and Maglor could not blame them.

These were the easy accusations, the ones he had answers for; the pain they brought was old and familiar and deserved.

There were others.

'What are you thinking, Makalaurë? Do you crave hatred so desperately? Or is it love? What is it you want from these children, or do you even know what it is?'

These were much worse.

 

* * *

  _3\. restless_

.

Elros and Elrond were restless because they dared not rest, not yet.

Not in their captors' house, not under the scrutiny of their burning eyes, not when each of them needed to make sure, again and again, that the other is still there, a habit that would take long years to break even after they learnt to accept the safety offered by Fëanorians.

Maedhros and Maglor were restless because they could not rest, not anymore.

Maedhros would sit silent and still, unmoving, shadows of pain darkening his ever-alert eyes.

Maglor would fidget and pace and eventually always find his way to his harp, whose frame he grasped tightly but whose strings he caressed gently, skillfully weaving its golden sounds.

The other three would gravitate towards him, greedily drinking in the music that could not grant them rest, but did grant them a dreamy exhaustion they knew to be content with.

* * *

  _4\. snowflake_

.

The snow fell early here, earlier than it ever did in Sirion, soft and sparkling white.

The snow reflected the meager winter sunlight and scattered it around, lighting up the grim fortress, redecorating it in bright coldness.

Elros and Elrond were throwing it at one another, laughing, climbing it and moulding it, not even feeling the cold.

Eventually, Maglor came looking for them, and paused, glancing up at the quickly darkening sky.

He held out a hand and let a single snowflake land on the tip of his finger and rest there, apparently admiring its fragile beauty, until it slid down his palm in a drop of water. His eyes bore an odd look when they fell on the twins, but it was with a thin smile that he ushered them inside.

Later Maedhros came, with a cap of snow slowly melting in his fiery hair, and found them by the fireplace; he paused in the doorway, watching, absent-mindedly plucking snowflakes from the red strands falling on his shoulders.

* * *

_5\. haze_

.

They walked as if in a haze, each and every one of them, never seeing clearly, never being sure.

Memories of the past clouding the present.

(- _what happened then -_ )

Mixed feelings clouding thoughts.

( _\- it is all different now -_ )

Tentative hopes clouding judgment.

( - _if only I could believe -_ )

Whichever was true, when both had to be yet both could not?

( _\- impossible -_ )

Through the haze they looked at each other, uncertain as to what they saw.

( _\- they would never -_ )

In the haze they hesitantly sought one another, and found, against all odds.

* * *

_6\. flame_

.

It was not a sight to be forgotten, the bright flame forged from unearthly light, caged in the form of a perfect jewel.

In their earliest memories they saw it burning at Elwing's neck, and they remembered the way the flame had reflected in her eyes; and at times it had seemed she could not, or would not see past that radiance sparkling in her pupils.

They saw it shine with the flare of a falling star, diving into the waves, but there was no wish to be made other than _please, please don't, please come back._

(There was a flame akin to it in the Fëanorians' eyes, too, older and deeper and somehow more genuinely there, ever ready to blaze anew, ever craving to feed off their star's light.)

And brightly it burnt in the cold depths of the night sky, elevated beyond the reach of any.

'They call it the Star of High Hope,' Maglor told them, in a voice carefully even, and it was plain he understood it was not hope that the new star signified for Elrond and Elros.

_(They carried away the flame of their star, and they are not coming back.)_

It was resignation, and abandonment.

* * *

_7\. formal_

.

Formal meant cold.

To act informally would be to act warmly, and warmly was not an option.

(Even if warmth they missed.)

Formal meant distant.

To act informally would be to get closer, and closer was not possible.

(Even if isolation felt lonely.)

Formal meant reserved.

To act informally would be to say too much, one way or the other, and break the delicate balance that made passing days almost bearable.

(Even if it never truly worked.)

On the other hand, formal meant undecided.

To act informally would be to declare intentions, and he was not certain of what they should be.

(Even if he knew what his heart wished for.)

Formal meant careful.

To act informally would be to risk wounding further, and he hoped to avoid that.

(Even if it had always been impossible.)

Formal meant removed.

To act informally would be to try to alleviate distrust, and he still doubted he had any right to do it.

(Even if he believed everything he told them.)

But most of all, formal was brittle, and temporary, and not at all helpful.

* * *

_8\. companion_

.

It was only later that Elros and Elrond understood that they had never been truly alone.

Maedhros, who had been completely and utterly alone once, forsaken and left to suffer by his closest family, could have told them that.

But he had always blamed his own foolishness, and never his brothers, so he did not.

Maglor could have told them that, too, as he remembered fire over water and Amrod's face, pale and terrible in the slowly dying red glow.

But he was reluctant to scare them with the idea of that unthinkable loss, so he did not.

The twins felt abandoned and alone, but at the very least they had one another, companions in fear and loneliness.

That was the one link left to them after everything else had been torn away.

(And it was the one they would later sever by their own choices.)

* * *

_9\. move_

.

Whenever he tried to move closer, they moved away.

It was not particularly surprising – they had every reason to feel repelled and disgusted by him, and suspicious of the stark contrast in his attitude – but it was troubling. How was he supposed to raise children who despised him?

Insisting on reconciliation – not _re_ conciliation, he corrected himself, it was not as if there had ever been peace between them – so insisting on conciliation too stubbornly was counter-productive, and must have felt nearly oppressive.

Therefore Maglor would not move; he would stay where he was, simply being there, always calm and gentle and forbearing under the twins' wary glances, telling stories and singing songs, persistent in the laborious task of persuading them to accept his presence in their lives and ensuring that they knew, if only they allowed themselves to believe it, that he would be there for them, if only they let him.

Instead of moving closer to them, he would wait patiently until they were ready to move towards him, if only a little.

And slowly, step by step, they did.

* * *

_10\. silver_

.

It had been Maedhros who first led Elrond and Elros to the evening room, and Maglor had already been there, sitting in a pool of Isil's silver light, idly plucking the strings of a silver harp, eyes glistening behind his dark tresses.

(It was a habit he had, as they later learnt, and more often than not he would twang the chords even as he spoke, accenting his words with carefully picked notes.)

He seemed to change entirely when he played; he was the minstrel then, not the kinslayer, with a silvery voice instead of a deadly blade.

They used to assume he played for them to ease their distrust, and acted wary.

Later, they decided it was to soothe their worries, and felt something akin to gratitude.

But even as Maglor's play and song alleviated the twins' anxieties, the true reason was different still.

He played because he had to play, driven by an inner compulsion; his hands craved the harp and his tongue craved the songs more deeply than their ears ever could, and he played obsessively, eyes closed, completely immersed.

And after the music withered to silence, he would sit motionless for a long moment, slowly surfacing from the melodic trance, hands resting upon the silver harp.

(Sometimes, in the light of Isil, Maglor's hands looked as if they had been wrought from silver, too; when Elrond told him that, he laughed and said, 'That's Celebrimbor, not me.')

* * *

_11\. prepared_

.

'Are you certain you know what you are doing?'

No, of course he was not.

He said nothing.

'Do you not think we have already hurt them enough?'

Yes, of course they had already hurt these children enough.

He kept silent.

'Spare them your pity, Makalaurë, it will not be welcomed. You cannot fix this.'

Of course he could not, he knew that very well.

He did not respond.

'They will not love you.'

No, of course they would not, the loathing in their eyes was plain, and yet-

He remained quiet.

Maedhros sighed.

'And if by some unlikely miracle they learn to love you, how will they ever forgive themselves for it? And how will they live with it once they return to their own people? Are you prepared to take that risk?'

No, of course he was not prepared. But there was no good choice to make, now or ever.

He clenched his fists, and left.

* * *

_12\. knowledge_

.

The lessons in history were unlike any other.

The lessons in history were always held by one of the Fëanorions, because, as Maglor told them, 'We would not have others recount our deeds.' And the twins thought it sounded conceited, to equal history with the actions of House of Fëanor, but there was truth to it, too.

Usually it was Maglor who talked, in his strong and clear voice, and Maedhros who sat, listening in silence, his eyes inscrutable.

And so Elrond and Elros learnt of events, of places and of people long lost, and watched the elf's eyes, eyes that had seen the Trees, burn brighter as he spoke of his family, which was also their family, of the Noldor and of their fall.

Finwë. Fëanor. Fingolfin. Fingon. Turgon. Elenwë, lost in Helcaraxë. Aredhel. Idril ( _and E_ _ä_ _rendil searched for her, as Elwing once told them, so long ago_ ).

Many names, and more, of people they had known and cried for.

Sometimes Maglor's voice would halt and fall, broken, and the brothers would look at one another, and Maedhros would walk out, without a word, leaving his brother to continue alone.

Losgar. Nirnaeth Arnoediad. The woods of Doriath.

It was only once that Maglor's face contorted in pain and he walked out, visibly unable to narrate any further, and it fell to Maedhros to explain, in a quiet and faraway voice, what had happened after Fëanor's death by the shores of Lake Mithrim, while the twins stared at him in horror and could not understand why it had to be him who told that tale.

(They thought they understood, much later, and to even greater horror.)

Many terrible tales, and more, and details they had witnessed and suffered.

'Why are you telling us all that?' Elros asked once, and Maglor looked at him as though he failed to understand the question.

'So that you know.'

* * *

_13\. denial_

.

'No.'

Elrond shook his head, first slowly, then more violently, tears streaming from his closed eyes.

'No, no, _no…_ ' he repeated, ignoring Elros' frantic signs and angry glances. 'No, she-' _is our mother._ 'She would-' _come, if only she had survived._

But Elwing was alive, and her sons knew it, deep in their hearts. She was alive and had not come.

'Stop it, or they'll hear!' hissed Elros, shaking his brother's arm, but to no avail.

' _He_ was to come for us! Even _they_ said he would!'

'Be _quiet_!' But it was not only about not being heard crying, as they both knew; it was not to hear these words spoken aloud, as if this act would turn the suspicions tentatively blooming to certainty in the depths of their minds into irreversible truth.

And now it was too late.

'And what do _they_ know?' Elros retorted indignantly, fighting back the tears, striving to be angry instead. 'It would seem our _father_ loves us so well that even Kinslayers are surprised!'

'No. No…'

Yet there was no denying it; Eärendil had sailed to the West, and would not come.

They looked at the bright new star and knew it to be true.

* * *

_14\. wind_

.

The winds, ever so strong in the seaside city of Sirion, danced between the two of them, urging her forward, hindering him in his steps.

'Stay where you are!'

Ignoring him, she ran onwards, her white dress billowing in the intensifying breeze, until there was nowhere to run.

'Stay where you are!'

'No, _you_ stay where you are!' she screamed, spinning around to confront him, and indeed he halted, narrowing his flaming eyes. 'Stay away from me!'

'Give it back, and no one will get hurt,' he rasped, but his hand was covered in blood, and she laughed in his face.

'You have children, would have us take them instead?'

Her determined expression flickered for a moment, betraying hesitation, but it too was soon blown away in another gust of wind sweeping across her features.

'Give it back!'

She shook her head, eyes burning with unwavering pride, hands clutching at the treasure at her throat.

'You will never have it, I swear to you.'

And she took a step back, entrusting herself to the dancing gale, heedless of his shrieks, like a creature of the wind herself, weightless and free.

(And the winds caught her and lifted, and she flew, feeling them beneath her wings, to where they guided her.)

* * *

_15\. order_

.

'This is something you have to decide on your own,' was what Maglor told them, his mouth twisting only a little, and what caught their attention was not the suddenly tight tone of his voice, but the idea that it was a matter of decision.

It was a subject Elros and Elrond seldom discussed at all, the turmoil of conflicting emotions troubling their hearts, yet each sensed it in the other, confusing and unresolved.

They had been hoping for order to be found in what resembled a puzzle with too many pieces which refused to fit together, and that once they found it, they would know what to do.

How to feel.

The notion that this very order they helplessly waited for was theirs to choose was new, and intriguing, and scary.

( _Elwing, their mother, and her stories of fair Doriath under Dior's rule, and who caused its demise-_ )

( _Maglor's gentle, sad eyes, his thoughtfulness and care-_ )

( _E_ _ä_ _rendil, the father they barely remembered, and the memory of Sirion and its sack-_ )

( _Maedhros' distant expression that softened ever so slightly whenever he saw the twins-_ )

Which was more important? Which picture was true?

'It is all right,' was what Maedhros told them, without even asking what the matter was, and what caught their attention was not the words, but the quiet reassurance in his voice; and there and then they knew whatever order they would decide on had to feature the brothers' kindness first of all.

The rest would find its place.

* * *

_16\. thanks_

.

The greatest thanks they never phrased, because there were not words enough.

Maglor never told the twins how grateful he was for the chance they had given him, for their acceptance and growing affection, for the opportunity to cherish and nurture once again.

Elros and Elrond never told Maglor how thankful they were for his care and thoughtfulness, for the way he gave them space when they needed it and comfort when they craved it.

(And, although they would never admit it, even to one another, for keeping them when they had been ready to believe no one would want them.)

They never thanked Maedhros, either, for his calming and dependable presence and for how he sometimes seemed to understand them best, for all his brother usually paid them more attention.

They did not even thank each other, simply because it never occurred to them; but if Elros had thought about it, he would have been grateful to Elrond for taking the first hesitant steps towards the Fëanorians, and if Elrond had thought about it, he would have been grateful to Elros for not holding him back too tightly, despite all the quarrels it had caused.

And Maedhros never told the twins how grateful he was for their trust and appreciation and, most of all, for everything they did for Maglor, his younger brother whom he had not seen this alive for a very long time.

They never voiced any of this, but they knew it anyway, and so they thanked one another for all the simplest little things, day after day.

* * *

_17\. look_

.

There were treasures to be found in the fortress, if one knew how to look.

An ornate paper knife, with an intricate pattern of silver leaves and a single white flower on the handle, was a treasure they found on a high shelf in a study.

'This is Celebrimbor's work. He gave it to me the last time I saw him.'

'What happened to him?'

'Nothing much. He just couldn't stand us any longer.'

A picture in red ink, depicting an elven lord, an elven lady and an elven child, was a treasure they found in an old book, hidden between the pages.

'My grandfather with his daughter and his eldest grandson. I think my father may have painted this.'

'You mean this is _Maedhros_?'

'Do not let him hear you sound so surprised, please.'

A set of golden hair adornments, entangled and covered in dust, was a treasure they found in a drawer in an empty room.

'Curufin made these for Celegorm. I am not sure why they would even be here.'

'How do you wear them?'

'Should I put them on one of you, or would you rather call my brother?'

These treasures may not have looked like treasures, but, as the twins brought them to Maglor or Maedhros for inspection and watched the expressions on their faces, it was clear they undoubtedly were.

* * *

_18\. summer_

.

Summer was heat and long days bathed in sunlight.

What was missing was the Sea, its fresh salty smell, its tireless whispering and the waves lapping at their feet; and it took a while to realize how used they had been to its presence in that different, lost life.

But they did not complain.

Summer was also summer storms and long evenings filled with shimmering melodies of rainfall.

What was not missing in these melodies were words, but Maglor, ever the minstrel, added them anyway, softly mingling with the music of raindrops.

And they laughed, breathing in the invigorating atmosphere.

* * *

_19\. transformation_

.

At some point it became impossible to view the Fëanorians as they originally had; it was too late to double back and look through the eyes full of mistrust, to evoke the repulsion.

And it was scary, and Elros and Elrond had to doubt themselves for it, and it hurt.

Their captors had managed to transform, in their own eyes, into their closest family, and they were not even certain when it had happened.

The change had been slow, and steady, and gradual; with each step they had assured themselves they could always withdraw, and never had.

At times it had felt oddly inevitable, as if they could sense the shape the future would take and watch it form, which was in equal parts comforting and unsettling; but the future came regardless.

And when it had finally occurred, they realized there had been no transformation at all, except that which had changed these eyes of theirs and allowed them to see further; for Maglor and Maedhros had been the same all along.

* * *

_20\. tremble_

.

Maglor had never seen the children cry before – while they would sometimes sport red, swollen eyes, they were either too brave or too scared to let him witness their tears – but they were crying now, weeping in hushed grief, their small forms shaking.

And he was lost.

'I am sorry,' was what the best he could think of to say, hesitant and quiet.

'Yes, I'm sure _you_ are sorry!' Elros snapped at him, glaring defiantly above the head of his twin, who was clutching at his arm.

'Pardon?'

'What will you _do_ now? Whom will you persuade to carry you to the sky, or what arrow will you send to strike down a star? No wonder you are _sorry_!'

'That is not-'

'My brother was just saying we should be glad,' Maedhros' voice spoke from the doorway.

'Glad!'

It was Elrond who cried this time, in a tone tight and uncharacteristically high, and Maglor winced slightly.

'I really-'

'Are you going to say it is your fault again?' the boy demanded, tensely.

'Yes, it is my fault that you-'

'Of course! How _greedy_ you Fëanorians are, to want all the fault and all the blame to _yourselves_!'

Maglor blinked, startled, while Elros eyed his brother uncertainly for a moment, only to round back on the elf in front of him.

'Yes, why don't you go and tell everyone exactly _whom_ they are supposed to blame?!' he shouted. 'Tell the elves and men and dwarves and whoever will listen that the Star of Hope is _your fault_!'

'I -'

It was not often that Fëanor's second son was lost for words, but it mattered little, for his charges seemed to be waiting for none; and although his heart ached at the thought of leaving them in such misery, in his mind Maglor doubted he could do anything other than deepen it, and so, after a long while of stretched-out silence, he turned to walk away.

At which point a small hand caught his sleeve.

He looked down to see Elrond, who would not meet his eyes, but would not let go of him either, if his tight grasp on the fabric was any indication.

Without saying a word, Maglor knelt slowly, allowing the trembling to child rest a head on his shoulder; a moment passed before Elros joined them, tentatively clutching at the Fëanorion's other arm, and so they stayed, in silence, as there was nothing to be said.

* * *

_21\. sunset_

.

'When we first arrived in Middle-Earth, it was lit by stars alone.'

'Day and night?'

'There was no day and night. Only the starlit sky.'

'You saw the first sunrise?'

'Yes.'

Maglor did not elaborate, and something in his voice stopped them from asking.

( _The last fruit of Laurelin, flaming in the sky, its light shining on the blue and silver banners in the distance, the sound of horns, the heavy chain forged from guilt and desperate pride and the weight of the unwanted crown-_ )

'Then, for some time, the Sun would not set at all,' he said at length. 'It would meet the Moon midway its voyage through the sky, and their lights would mix.'

'There was no sunset?'

'No sunset and no sunrise, nor could we see the stars. But only for a short time.'

'The sunset is beautiful.'

'It is.'

And it was, even if to Maglor's eyes it appeared slightly too similar to fire, a blazing halo disappearing slowly beneath the horizon, and too unlike the dwindling of the Golden Tree's light; he had long learnt to put such thoughts aside, and so it was only a little absent-mindedly that he complied to Elrond's insistence to be picked up for a better view.

'Hmm? Why, you will have to wait for your turn, Elros, or perhaps ask Maedhros? Unless you are scared of heights, of course.'

* * *

_22\. mad_

.

The lights of Maglor's eyes, always bright, flickering, changing, were also ever on the brink of bursting into flames that burnt with something escaping their comprehension and infusing them with fear, first of him, then for him.

(- _stroking the hair of a dead elf, smearing dark red blood on dark red locks_. ' _We should burn him,_ ' _he said, and fires enough to consume the elf and himself and the whole city and the entire world were already raging in his pupils -_ )

( _'- look at whom she left behind this time, it is not only us who abandon our own!' and the blazing hatred in his expression as he spat the words -_ )

(' _\- you are_ mad' _, and,_ ' _You_ _are a fine one to talk._ ')

Eventually they learnt – although thankfully never fully understood – what fueled these fires, and their hearts wrenched in pain as they watched Maglor's weary features.

(It was the madness of self-loathing.)

* * *

_23\. thousand_

.

The Fëanorians recited dates and numbers, and the numbers were only more words to remember, not seeming to carry a lot of meaning.

Several dozen years ago.

A couple of hundred years ago.

A thousand years ago, when the world had still been young.

What did a thousand years mean to elflings of barely ten?

(Maglor said they were growing faster than full elf children, and he appeared concerned, but they dismissed his worries, because, really, what could go wrong after all that already had?)

The tales were captivating, but often appeared abstract, as did the knowledge of just how old Maedhros and Maglor were; their words opened an abyss of time before the twins' eyes, and drew images and events unbelievably ancient.

'In time, these days will become unbelievably ancient as well,' Maglor pointed out when Elrond expressed this view. 'As unimaginable as my childhood is to you.'

( _Different time, different world -_ )

They had to concede to the truth of this, and refrained from asking if they would witness it, like Maglor had, aware he had no means of knowing that.

Instead they reflected, each separately, on the implications of this, and came to their own separate conclusions.

(Which, in a thousand years, would make all the difference.)

* * *

_24\. outside_

.

It was very tempting, at times, and at times far too easy, to pretend the outside world did not exist.

If they could forget about the world outside the safety of the fortress, about the past and the future outside the haven of the present, they could almost believe, for a moment, that they had always belonged here.

( _It would be so much easier, and so much simpler, and so much_ better _if only we were -_ )

'Do not close your eyes to the truth,' Maglor would say, and his voice would be sad and tired and firm; and they obeyed, saving the truth the outside world knew nothing of deep in their hearts.

( _Here, inside, we are family; there, outside, people will call them our enemies -_ )

'At least you will be spared the trouble of disowning me,' he said another time, and his smile looked painful, and they were about to protest when they heard a long, drawn-out sigh.

'Do you not think it is rather late for that? You are not Curufin, and your children would not disown you, so spare us your whining, Kano. You are setting the wrong example.'

And that was true, and Elrond and Elros nodded their assent, and Maglor rolled his eyes at Maedhros, but fell silent, yet not without casting an uncertain glance at the twins to check if they minded being called his children.

They did not mind, and they smiled at the words. Here, inside, they were Maglor's children.

Outside could wait.

* * *

_25\. winter_

.

'It was in the middle of winter,' Maglor told them, and Maedhros was not there, not for this tale.

Elrond and Elros had heard parts of it from Elwing, and, even as they tried not to, vividly remembered the shadows of old pain on her face. And these were the missing parts, recalled and recounted by one who had been on the other side; and the picture was fuller now, near complete.

The Thousand Caves.

Celegorm. Caranthir. Curufin.

Dior. Nimloth.

Eluréd. Elurín.

'Maedhros just turned and left, without telling me or Amrod what he intended to do. He would not be back for weeks, we feared him slain, too. And then, eventually, he returned.'

The silence after these words was heavy, and they tried not to consider all the connotations ( _similarities_ ) that the tale bore and that made their skin crawl.

( - _would have grown up to be their uncles, yet remained forever as little children from a tragic story_ \- )

(And years later, as they heard tidings which drove them out into the woods for a different search, also unavailing, they would once again pretend not to think of that tale.)

* * *

_26\. diamond_

.

'Often there are multiple ways of looking,' Maedhros told them, in one of the rare occasions he was alone with the twins. 'You can choose one, if you like, but wisdom lies in seeing them all. Keep your eyes open, and few matters will be clouded from you.'

Elros and Elrond nodded, not wholly comprehending, and he smiled at them, but only a little, and they watched the scars on his face rearrange themselves.

'Then, even if you do something against your better judgment, at least you will be aware of this.'

The twins nodded again, and Maedhros snorted.

'You can stop pretending to understand, you know. I recognize that look. You don't raise six brothers without seeing it every now and then.'

They grinned bashfully, embarrassed, and watched him run his hand through his dark red hair.

'You will understand in time, I suppose.'

They accepted this, and, because they took special note of everything the less outspoken Fëanorian told them, endeavored to look around them with their eyes open. And saw, in time.

Multiple sides, multiple edges and facets, and light shining through the core, transparent and clear.

* * *

_27\. letters_

.

Pages full of letters, marks of ink on paper.

Maglor's flowing, florid script which almost seemed to sing the words it bore, Maedhros' neat, clean lettering that spoke of calm precision, Elrond's exact, tight cursive, put down with concentrated care for each symbol and each word, and Elros' expansive calligraphy which betrayed slight impatience, a certain hurry to capture the meaning lest it escaped.

(Maglor found a letter Maedhros had written with his right hand, and showed them for comparison – there was little difference, which, in an odd way, the twins found reassuring.)

Chains of letters forged into words, lines of words woven into phrases and sentences that in turn composed poems, tales and histories.

'Practically our family heirloom, tengwar,' Maglor once said. 'And definitely one of the more useful,' he added as an afterthought, evoking a quiet laugh from his brother.

'Also, one of the few we were allowed to share.'

* * *

_28\. promise_

.

There were two things Maglor told them, right at the beginning, and they sounded like promises, even though he never used the word.

'I will not harm you' was the first, and came with the immediate amend, 'any further.' Then, after another moment of silent consideration, he added, 'If there is a way to avoid it.'

That was hardly a reassuring declaration, and he must have been aware of it, but did not elaborate.

(Only much later would the twins reflect back on those words and understand that, for words he truly meant, they could not have been different.)

'I will not lie to you' was the second, with the dry comment of 'You should know by now that if there is anything you can trust me to honour, it is my word' thrown in at length.

And he asked them to accept these two statements as facts, yet they were not certain if they could believe him.

Still, that was the basis, and slowly it grew into much more, until they came to him to proclaim their own promises.

'Never bind yourselves with promises, for you cannot foresee the consequences,' he told them then, eyes darkening, 'and especially do not waste them on me.'

Elrond and Elros exchanged glances, one of which said _Told you so_ and the other _Why must he be so stubborn?_

'Not a promise, then.'

'Yes, if it makes you feel better, please consider it a warning.'

Maglor sighed, but they could see he was supressing a smile.

'Well, what would you warn me about?'

'Memory.'

'Loyalty.'

'Gratitude.'

'And truth.'

He studied them in silence for a moment.

'All right. I feel warned.'

* * *

_29\. simple_

.

It was a matter so very complicated that Elrond and Elros taught themselves to look at it very simply, to see the improbable facts and accept the disheveled feelings as they were.

Once they had managed that, it all became clear, and much easier to bear.

It was also something impossible to explain, so they learnt to state it instead and leave it at that, which would earn them many a shocked, disbelieving stare in the future.

They also found that few words were necessary, and only the simplest could ever do the situation justice.

('Yes, I loved them. I still do. They were our family.')

Maglor was still concerned, but then again he was always concerned and neither the twins' insistence nor his brother's exasperated glances seemed to ease his trepidations.

'An overprotective parent,' Maedhros called him, and the Elrond and Elros laughed, and Maglor appeared indignant. 'Stop worrying, your sons will be fine. You raised them well.'

He told them more later, when the three of them were sitting by the fireplace.

'I was wrong,' he admitted, and they looked up, startled, but his eyes reflected the flames alone. 'I feared you two and Makalaurë would only hurt each other. But you made him really happy.'

For a while only the crackling of the fire would be heard, its soft glow catching in Maedhros' hair.

'And he is proud of you,' the elf added, eventually, 'even if he will not admit it. He believes he has no right to.'

The twins contemplated this, not entirely surprised, and the eldest Fëanorion watched them with a small smile on his lips.

'Incidentally, I, too, am proud of you.'

All these were very simple things to say, and all the more meaningful for that; and when the simple words were not enough, they resorted to an even simpler action.

They walked up to Maglor and embraced him, holding him close.

* * *

_30\. future_

.

'It will not be much longer,' they heard Maedhros say, and did not pick up Maglor's reply; a chill run through both of them, and they exchanged suddenly panicked glances.

(Knowledge was one thing; confrontation was another.)

'You need to consider the future,' Maglor told the twins, without direct provocation; they had carefully avoided mentioning the matter, as if remaining quiet allowed them to ignore it looming in every corner.

'Why? Why couldn't we consider the future _here_?'

'The world is changing, while we remain caught up in the past. I would not have you involved any further.'

'Involved in what?'

'You know all too well.'

'But we cannot leave you!'

'You know that is not true.'

'We don't _want_ to leave you!'

'Yet you will have to. You deserve better than that.'

'This is what you said of your nephew.'

'And of you it is truer still. But you can ask his opinion once you meet him.'

'But -'

'No. I realize this is difficult for you, and I can only apologise for that. However, I am sure you in turn realise this is inevitable, for all it angers you.'

They glared at him, because, as much as they hated to admit it, he was right.

(Understanding was one thing; acceptance was something entirely different.)

And beneath the anger they felt fear, and helplessness, and pain, because in their hearts Elrond and Elros knew that, in the better future Maglor wanted for them, they would not see him or Maedhros again.


End file.
